


In a Honky Tonk Somewhere

by Ranua



Series: Gimme A Double [3]
Category: Kane (Band), Leverage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2013-07-01
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:37:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranua/pseuds/Ranua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot was just looking to unwind and get away for a few hours. He couldn't have picked a better bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Honky Tonk Somewhere

It looks like just his kinda place; pick-up trucks and old beaters litter the parking lot, and he can hear the muffled beat of loud music as he slides outta the cab of his own truck. Satisfaction at finding exactly the kinda bar he likes starts the work of easing the tension in his shoulders as he approaches the front door. The loud, rock fueled country music that greets him as he opens the door is enough to twitch a grin to his lips. Friday night in a honky-tonk is exactly what he needs to unwind after a week spent check to jowl with the crew.

The stage isn't immediately visible as he walks in on the short leg of the 'L' shaped building, but the music is loud and perfect. The bend in the room doing nothing to diminish the sound coming from the stage or the press of bodies crowding the dance floor and tables. He wanted live music, cheep beer and a crowd to be anonymous in and this looked to be exactly the place to find it.

He pushes up to the bar in the bend of the room, orders his shot with a beer back and gets a double take from the bartender. He figures it's the hair; not a lot of long hair on men in a country bar. Tipping back his shot he slaps down the empty, grabs his long-neck and pushes his way back into the crowd determined to ignore everything but working on unwinding.

Trying to get a glimpse of the band he cranes his neck, but all he can see of the stage is one edge, most of the view cut off by the crowd and ceiling supports. But the view he does have, yeah, it's a pretty nice one. Up on stage is a blonde with a guitar; head tipped back, sweat soaked t-shirt clinging to a fine looking body, a look of total abandon on his face as he rocks out to the music he's making.

The crowd surges and shifts again, obscuring Eliot's view of all but the tops of heads on stage. Shrugging philosophically to himself he gives it up as a bad job and works his way through the crowd to where the bar and wall meet, wedging himself into a nice defensible corner. 

Forty-five minutes, another shot and beer later the band's taking a break. The crowd ebbs and flows even more as people jostle for the bar and out to the smoking garden. Eliot gets a few more double takes and wide-eyed looks that even through the light buzz of alcohol rub him the wrong way. He's trying to relax and have a good time damnit, the stares and funny looks aren't helping.

A sweaty body pushes into the tiny space next to Eliot, interrupting his annoyance and he finds himself shoved up against the blonde guitarist from the band. The guy turns to face him, hopefully to freaking apologize, and his eyes get wide. 'Holy shit!' Eliot hears.

A scowl darkens his face, seriously, this is enough damn it. What the hell is wrong with all these people anyway? Aside from his hair, he looks just like everyone else in the bar. There is no way any of them know him from his less than legal activities. Even if they did, it wouldn't account for the shear number of strange looks.

Blondeie must sense his irritation because the guy starts to babble and make placating gestures. 'No, hey man, I'm sorry. It's just . . . damn, can't believe it . . . Heard of it, but didn't think it was real. Shit, just like him. . .'

The look on the guys face is kinda amusing Eliot thinks, all gaping goldfish. The guy is totally freaked out and not even trying to hide it. It's not the usual reaction Eliot gets, but hey, he is here for a good time and blondie guitar guy is starting to prove entertaining.

As the blonde continues to babble and wave his hands around, another body shoves into the space at the end of the bar. 'Steve, man, what the fuck? Come on, grab your beer, I wanna smoke.' A sweaty guy in a beanie and flannel that Eliot recognizes from the stage growls at the blonde.

The blonde, Steve apparently, grabs the guys shoulders and forces him around directly into Eliot's face. Dimly, he hears, 'Shit, Chris, look.' and he would swear he's looking into a mirror. 

Steve’s not sure if it's him or Chris that's more stunned, but he’s guessing him. Chris never lets anything throw him for long and his double looks even less fazed. He's heard the old wives tales and cliches about doppelgangers; how everyone on the planet has got some one out there who looks just like them. He’s always figured it was bullshit stories. But right here in front of him he’s got proof.

‘Damn son,’ Christian growls without menace, ‘who the hell are you?’

‘Who am I? Boy, the better question is what the fuck?’ the guy growls back in a voice Steve thought was only Christian's.

Both men laugh,’Shit’ and ‘Fuck’ coming from one or the other. Steve can only watch, his eyes bouncing from one face to the other like a tennis match, it is damn surreal.

‘This calls for a drink,’ Christian declares. ‘Steve, grab a bottle, me and, what’s your name?’

‘Eliot.’

‘Eliot, yeah, me and Eliot'll grab a table.’

By the time Steve gets to the table in the corner, the two are comparing family histories. Eliot is sixth generation backwoods Tennessee and knows his family in and out, personally, back to great-grandpa who taught him woodcraft when he was barely old enough to walk.

Christian may have bounced around the mid-west oil fields growing up, but he knows all of his cousins, uncles and aunts and none of them ever made it to Tennessee. So they don’t look alike through blood, far as they can tell.

Steve can only sit and take it all in, nursing his beer and watching the show, so to speak. Some of their mannerisms are even similar. And, if he’s not mistaken, they’ve got the same scar on their faces. It’s kind of creepy how alike they are. But not creepy enough that he doesn't start to wonder how far those physical similarities go.

He tries to be subtle about checking Eliot out, but the man seems to have a sixth sense regarding being watched. The second time Eliot catches him watching, he gets a smirk and a wink that brings heat to his belly.

Having exhausted family, the two move on to the physical. Christian telling the story of how an amp falling off the edge of the stage while packing up after a gig one night, caught him in the forehead and cut right down to the bone. Eliot’s forehead, he says, was cut open by a lucky shot some punk in a bar brawl in Georgia got in with the butt of a pool cue. (Okay, he left out the part where it was Russian Georgia, and the punk was former KGB, and the pool cue was a rifle, but it was the same thing)

After running through childhood illnesses; they both had all the usual childhood ailments, but most likely more than their share of broken bones. Stupid high school stunts; Steve could only stare in disbelief at some of the things they were admitting to, filling the boys shower room with water and catfish could only happen at a school in the back-end of nowhere. They moved on to hobbies.

They both love to cook, but only for family. Eliot admitting his work as a bounty hunter keeps him from home more than he’d like. And Chris doesn’t get home as much as he’d like either, what with the near constant touring trying to make a go of the music. But family is the be all end all of their lives they both agree. Christian flashes Steve his warmest smile, letting him know, like always, he's considered family.

Eliot adds that he can play a little guitar. Hard not to pick it up with everybody at home musical in some way or another. He even messed around with a band a bit during his brief flirtation with college. But it wasn't something he kept up regularly. Going head to head with another guy to see who was better, that was more his speed.

Chris shares that he can fight some beyond the standard redneck bar brawl. He took all kinds of martial arts classes in LA during his fling with acting. But LA is where he met Steve, and the music he’d played since childhood won out over acting. Besides, he had itchy feet and an intense dislike of bullshit, so the Hollywood scene wasn't for him.

The sound guy wanders over, doing a double take that the couple of shots they'd shared made pretty damn funny, and tells 'em, 'Breaks over guys, gotta finish the night.'

‘Hey,’ Chris says standing, ‘stick around man, this is our last set. We could grab a couple more beers, maybe a burger.’

Steve hopes Eliot'll say yes, and not just for Christian's sake, although Christian all little boy gleeful is a beautiful sight. It's just that it's been a long time and he wants to see if those couple of knowing smirks and winks lead where he hopes they will.

'Sure,' Eliot drawls with a shrug, 'ain't go no other plans.'

Chris grins a big shit eating grin and slaps him on the shoulder. 'Well, alright son. C'mon Steve, let's show the boy what we do.'

The team doesn't expect him till Monday morning, so he doesn’t feel bad about staying. Besides, Hardison and Nate both have his cell number if there's an emergency. He's got a feeling that burgers and couple more beers could last the whole weekend with these two. 

He watches the set from the table in the corner. The crowd is just as large and boisterous as earlier. He ends up sharing the table with a couple of 30 something women who do the now required double take. He can only shrug and shake his head, gesturing to the stage with his beer bottle. Thankfully, they leave him alone, except for an appreciative glance now and again.

They aren't hard on the eyes either and it's a boost to the ego to know he could go home with either one of them. He's not interested in a pick-up though. If he was, well there was a certain blonde guitarist who was giving off some interesting signals.

With a 'Thank you! We're Kane! Good-night!' the set was over. The house lights came back up and the crowd noise doubled as people began to drift out of the bar. Through the press of bodies Eliot could see the guys in the band breaking down and packing away equipment.

Christian was working the small crowd, mostly women, who were hanging at the edge of the stage. Giving hugs and autographs, smiling for photos. At one point he drug a laughing, sweaty, Steve down to pose with him. 'Let go man,' he could hear the blonde laugh, 'someone's gotta pack up your crap.'

He did pose for the picture though. Then shoving off Christian with a slap to his ass and a 'Go get our payday dude,' he hopped back on stage to finish packing up their gear. Christian broke free of his fans, most of those left seemed more interested in the guitar player with the wild mane of hair than him anyway.

Eliot watches the commotion from his now empty table. This isn't a world he's ever been a part of and he doesn’t think it's anything he'd want anyway. Oh, the performing looks a blast, but the attention, naw, not anything he wants. He's more a hang in the background kind of guy. He's never been sure if it takes too much ego or not enough to want to be in the spotlight like that.

He watches Christian meander over to a door beside the bar, knock and duck in. It really is odd how alike they look. Eliot's never paid attention to old wives tales before, and wouldn't his Great-Granny laugh herself sick to see her, if you can't touch it it ain't real, those stories are only to scare babies, grandson faced with proof that at least one of her stories had a grain of truth to it.

Steve drops into a sprawl on the chair across from Eliot. 'He'll be a bit. Dale can talk like nobody's business.'

'You guys are really good,' Eliot compliments sincerely. 'I couldn't get up there and do what Christian does.'

Steve laughs, 'Thanks man, Chris certainly is one of a kind.' His tone turning serious, he leans forward, eyes intent, 'So, hey, you up for getting together? I mean really, cos Christian is all kinds of stoked with this whole double business. It's like he thinks you're a long lost brother or some shit. So if you're weirded out take off now, okay.'

There's a protective note in Steve's voice that Eliot respects, but it's kinda funny too, this soft, laid back, guy is willing to take him on. 'He know you fight his battles for him?'

Steve flushes, but doesn't back down. 'He doesn't need me to fight anything for him. He's my best friend and I don't like seeing him upset.'

Eliot makes a placating gesture, 'Hey, I'm not here to upset anybody. Just came in for a beer and there he was. It's weird, but pretty cool too.'

Sitting back, Steve runs his hands through his hair. 'Yeah, man, sorry. Guess maybe I'm a little freaked out.' He chuckles, 'Seriously though, you two could be twins. If I wasn't seeing it I wouldn't believe it.'

'Me too man, it's like one of Great-Granny's stories. Makes you wonder though, if everyone's got a double.' Eliot trails off a look of contemplation on his face.

'Yeah,' Steve clears his throat, 'So, you never did say, is there a Mrs. Eliot waiting on you?'

'Naw,' Eliot gives Steve a heated look. 'I'm not really a 'Mrs.' kinda guy.'

'That so?' Steve returns the assessing look.

'So, you and Christian?' Eliot takes a stab in the dark.

Steve laughs a bit ruefully. 'Oh no. We're like brothers man. Besides, I may be blonde, but I'm not Chris' type of blonde.'

Eliot notices Steve doesn't deny that he would want to have something going on with Christian. It gives him hope he's not reading the situation wrong. Gesturing to the now empty stage Eliot asks 'You need any help carrying equipment out?'

Steve turns to look at the stage, seeing all the equipment has been packed up and, presumably, taken out to their trucks, he only hesitates for a moment before answering, 'Yeah, man, I think I do need a hand.'

Eliot follows Steve out the door by the stage. With a quick look to see they were secluded, he shoves the blonde against the wall, taking his mouth in a devouring kiss. Heat and pressure are returned just as hungrily from the man he has pined.

Snugging his thigh up tight between the guitarist's legs, he pulls back enough to growl out, 'This what you want? Can't have him, so you'll take me instead?' before diving back into the heat and wetness of Steve's mouth. 

Steve whimpers around the tongue invading his mouth. Hands gripping tight to Eliot's firm ass he shamelessly rides the brunette's thigh.

Both men are flushed and disheveled when Eliot pulls back again. 'Whada want darlin?'

'God,' Steve groans, 'Wanna blow you.'

'You want me to fill you up till you're choking on it baby? Shove my dick so far down your throat you taste me for a week? That what you want?' Eliot drawls in a sex soaked voice.

'Yeah,' Steve moans. 'Fuck, please.'

Eliot steps back, hands on his belt. 'Get on your knees boy,' he growls, voice filled with lust.

With a soul deep moan, Steve slides down the wall to his knees, hands going to Eliot's hips. Nuzzling the hard heat under worn denim he breaths out hot against the thick bulge. Looking up he can see Eliot looming over him, hands braced on the wall above Steve's head.

'Suck me, boy.' Is growled out in a voice so like Christian's that Steve shudders, restraint gone. With a quick tug he's got Eliot's button fly open, jeans and boxer briefs are shoved enough out of the way for him to swallow the thick cock to the root.

With a sharp cry, Eliot bucks hard, fucking into Steve's throat. Hands on Eliot's hips, Steve encourages him to move, moaning shamelessly around the length in his mouth.

Looking down Eliot is treated to the sight of Steve's blissed out face; eyes closed, spit slipping down his chin. 'Don't touch yourself, I wanna do it.' Eliot growls in a voice hoarse with want. Either words or tone make Steve whine and go down harder, deeper.

Orgasm slamming up his spine, Eliot comes with a long, growly whine. Steve, swallowing, riding out the brunette's erratic thrusts, moans along with him.

Panting harshly, Elliot enjoys the moment while Steve licks his spent dick clean. Reaching down, he gets a hand around Steve's bicep and helps haul the blonde to his feet. Shoving him against the wall he licks the taste of himself out of Steve's mouth.

Four hands fumble to get Steve's pants undone. Finding no underwear beneath the faded denim Eliot grins sharp into Steve's mouth. Leaning to the side he looks down to admire the freed cock in his hands. With a needy grunt Steve thrusts into the loose grip.

'Mmm, darlin, I got ya,' Eliot drawls.

'Please,' Steve pants, 'c'mon man.' 

'Yeah, darlin.' Eliot kisses him again, open mouth and sloppy. It takes only a handful of strokes before Steve is coming, hips arced off the wall, whine squeezed high in his throat, pulses of come spattering the ground.

Pressed hard to the wall holding them up, blond and brunette hair tangled together, they share harsh panted breaths for long moments as they come down. With a soft 'aha' Steve pulls a bandana from his back pocket and wipes his face, handing it over to Eliot for his own clean up. 

With the devils own grin Steve turns to Eliot, pins him to the wall and licks into his mouth. Eliot returns the kiss with enthusiasm. Pulling back with a satisfied smile Steve says, 'We'd better get back inside before Christian misses us.'


End file.
